


Prologue

by Riyo



Category: Star Wars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 00:50:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4685954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Riyo/pseuds/Riyo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading <3</p><p>You're the best!</p></blockquote>





	Prologue

Prologue: To Kill a Jedi

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.

After months in darkness, the light was almost blinding.

One moment, Mira Nandi was sitting in her pitch-black cell, thinking about nothing, and the next, there were two stormtroopers looming over her, telling her to stand. It was the sort of gap of consciousness that she had grown used to lately. Maybe it was the meditation, or maybe it was the effect of being locked in a dark room for what she thought must have been several months. It felt a little like waking up, though much less pleasant.

Mira’s eyes watered as she looked up at the troopers. The cell itself was still dark, just as it always had been and probably always would be, but directly ahead of her, bright light was streaming in through the open door. Mira vaguely recalled her first days inside the cell, though the memory was hazy. Hadn’t she felt every square inch of all four walls, looking for a door just like that one? She was certain that there hadn’t been one there before. There had been only four identical steel walls, perfectly smooth, the only texture a small drawer that opened every so often to provide food and water.

“Stand,” one of the troopers said again. He had a face, she thought, though the white helmet did a remarkable job of hiding that fact. For the purposes of the Empire, he was faceless. His voice certainly betrayed no emotion; had she not felt his life-signature in the Force she might have thought that he was a droid.

Seeing the white helmets and plastoid armor brought an image to Mira’s mind: another white helmet, different in design, this one painted with a blue-black stripe down the middle. There was a face attached to the memory of that helmet, but Mira pushed it out of her mind. She tried to focus on the scene in front of her.

“What’s wrong with her?” The second trooper’s voice was distinctly female, and except for the somewhat quizzical tone, held all of the emotion of the first voice. It held a vague imitation of a Core accent. Badly-mimicked Coruscanti, perhaps, or—

“We don’t have time for this,” said the first trooper. He grabbed Mira’s arm, and her attention immediately snapped back to the present.

“I don’t need your help,” she said, shaking his arm off and standing. Her voice felt hoarse from lack of use. A wave of alarm emanated from the troopers, but when Mira swayed, looking like she might fall over, they collected themselves and grabbed her arms. One of them snapped a pair of cuffs on her wrists.

“Come on,” said the female trooper, jerking her forward. Mira took a step and nearly collapsed. The troopers rushed to pull her back to her feet, and continued to lead her on, a little gingerly.

It took a few steps for Mira to grow accustomed to walking again. She felt weak, though the exhaustion was more mental than physical. Once she got used to walking, the physical aspect of being out of her cell wasn’t challenging, though she continued to pretend to have trouble. Hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups in her cell had helped to keep her strong, but the troopers didn’t seem to be aware of that fact, and every few feet they tolerantly jerked her back up as she pretended to fall.

Her mental strength was a different story. She hadn’t spent the months in her cell doing nothing, but she felt fragile nonetheless. Mira had long suspected that she was being kept on a ship rather than in a prison, as far as possible from the Living Force. Hours of meditation hadn’t helped the absence that she felt from having virtually no life around her. She had devoted her time to challenging herself, trying to survive on less food, less oxygen, less sleep, less thought. Now that the time had come for her to leave, she didn’t feel any stronger for it.

Her eyes were slowly growing accustomed to the onslaught of light as the troopers led her down a featureless corridor. The Empire, Mira thought, was inherently ugly. There was nothing aesthetically pleasing about the design of the interior of this ship; it was stark and white and plain. It was so boring. Then again, compared to the darkness, this was infinitely more interesting.

It was close to a ten-minute walk to their destination, with Mira walking slowly. The ship was big enough, she decided, to be a frigate at the smallest and a star destroyer at the largest. Well, it was at least large enough for dark prison cells, if—

Another gap in Mira’s consciousness. They were standing at a door, nearly indistinguishable from the rest of the wall if not for a control panel off to one side, and then Mira was sitting on a bench, her cuffs chained to the floor in front of her, in a white room whose only feature seemed to be a small vent on the ceiling. If only she could fit in the vent, she thought, she might have a chance of—

Her hope evaporated as the door opened. A man in the uniform of an Imperial agent stepped in, his boots making a distinctive clink on the white durasteel floor. He was a human man in his late forties, his brown hair just starting to gray. He stood straight, silent for a moment as he considered the being in front of him. In one hand he held what appeared to be a gas mask.

“Mira Nandi,” he said finally. It wasn’t a question. “Age: 42 standard years. Species: Pantoran. Status: Jedi. Traitor to the Empire.”

Mira didn’t respond. The officer considered her for another moment before he continued. “My name is Agent Kytov. I would first like to congratulate you on surviving this long. Not many Jedi are still around fifteen years after the beginning of the purge.” His tone was conversational, almost pleasant. His face harbored no ill will toward her.

Again, Mira was silent. She wasn’t proud of her survival.

“Unfortunately, your time has come to an end. I will be the last being you ever speak with.”

“I’m not speaking with you,” Mira said. “In fact, I’m ignoring you.”

“Fair enough.” Agent Kytov showed the barest shadow of a smile. “If you have nothing to say, I will proceed with the protocol, and we can perform the execution.” He started to press a button on the commlink on his wrist.

“Wait,” Mira said suddenly. Death, it seemed, was inevitable, but apparently her curiosity hadn’t died yet. “I want to know why.”

“Why we’re executing you?” This time, Kytov did smile. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re a Jedi. A traitor to the Empire. Some would say an abomination. The automatic punishment for such an offense is execution.”

“That’s not what I meant,” said Mira. “I meant, why now? You interrogated me and I knew nothing. Yet you still kept me in a cell on this ship for months before deciding to execute me. I want to know why you didn’t just get it over with before.”

“Ah. Well, I don’t suppose you deserve an explanation, but I’m in a generous mood, so I’ll give you one anyway.” Kytov was silent for a long moment, considering the gas mask he held in his left hand. “Of course you know how difficult it is to kill a Jedi.”

“It’s not difficult,” Mira said flatly. “A lightsaber through the heart. A dozen blaster bolts through the back. Surely you have those resources at your disposal.” Unbidden, another image flashed through her mind: twenty blasters aimed at her chest. Her own men attempting to shoot her down. For a moment, the memory threatened to drag her away from the present and into the darkest time of her past, but she managed to tear her mind away from it before it could consume her.

“We do indeed. And yet, once you’ve killed a Jedi, that’s all you have—a dead Jedi. They can’t do the Empire any good if they’re dead. And they certainly can’t do any good alive. It’s rarely worth the input of time and resources to turn a Jedi, though they do make formidable Inquisitors when done right. More often than not, though, they go mad or die during the training. It just isn’t worth it. But anyone, even the most vociferous and traitorous opponents, can serve their Empire. Jedi are no different.”

He seemed to be waiting for some sort of input from Mira, perhaps a loud declaration of resistance, but he would get no such satisfaction from her. Instead, she managed a rather weak, “How?”

“Most means of death do not preserve the body,” said Kytov. “You could kill a Jedi in front of a firing squad, but as soon as they die, their blood stops flowing. Though the organs may still function for a short time, the body cannot be preserved. Yet the Jedi harbor an asset that can be difficult to come by: midi-chlorians. To be able to harvest these midi-chlorians could give great powers to those who wish to serve the Empire. I believe some call it Force-sensitivity, but it’s no more than a physiological asset that anyone can use, if they have access to these midi-chlorians. For a long time, Jedi who would not serve the Empire were immediately killed. A few years ago, it was thought that these dead Jedi could be used as midi-chlorian donors, but it seemed that these midi-chlorians disappeared as soon as the Jedi died.

“But the Empire does not give up easily, and we recently discovered a toxin that could kill the body, yet preserve it in a perfect stasis so that midi-chlorians could be harvested and transferred to some more deserving being. Unfortunately, the first strain that we tried killed the test subject almost immediately, and there was not enough preservation to collect enough midi-chlorians to be put to good use. However, during the months of your imprisonment, the scientist in charge of the project seems to have perfected his virus. And you are the first recipient of this honor.”

“This is not something I would consider an honor,” Mira replied coldly. “You speak of abomination, but this is a true abomination, one against the Force. Without the Force, you and I would not be alive. To abuse it in this way is more than sacrilege—it’s dangerous.”

Kytov sighed. “The previous test subject said nearly the same thing. You see, Mira Nandi, I do not make the same mistake that many of my colleagues have made. I do not underestimate the Jedi. To fight against something, one must first understand it. I know what the Jedi think about the Force. I have studied what made them great, and what made them such terrible traitors. I have even read their philosophy. But what you mistake as a great and all-powerful Force is nothing that cannot be explained logically. Your ancient religion is culturally and scientifically obsolete.”

“Naturally, I disagree,” Mira said dryly. “But I suppose my opinion in this matter is inconsequential.”

“Indeed,” said Kytov. “And now, I believe you have the explanation you wanted. There’s no use delaying any further. I have a schedule to maintain. There is an emissary on their way right now. Once you are dead they will transport you to the correct facility.” He glanced at Mira, perhaps still hoping he would get some sort of protest, but he was met with silence. He pressed the button on his commlink and put the oxygen mask over his face. A moment later, a dark blue gas started to pour out of the vent in the ceiling.

Mira sucked in a breath of air and prepared to hold it. All that training she had done, alone in her cell, might do her some good yet, although she wasn’t sure how much it could really help—after all, she was still chained to a room that was quickly filling with poisonous gas.

Kytov, seemingly able to read her thoughts, said, “It’s no use holding your breath. You’ll have to breathe soon enough.”

Mira didn’t respond. She wasn’t sure if now was a good time to look back on her life, such as it had been. Death had been something that she had prepared for—had expected, really—since the beginning of the Clone Wars. She’d had ample time to reflect on her life. Instead, she tried to empty her mind.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

So far, her breath was still holding. She tried to slow her heart rate, to calm her body the way she had so many times during meditation. The room was already full of the blue fog; she could hardly even see Kytov standing a couple of meters away.

There is no passion, there is serenity.

“If you keep this up, I’ll be behind schedule,” Kytov complained, his voice slightly distorted by the mask on his face. “Just accept your fate, Jedi. What good will delaying it do?”

Mira didn’t respond. Her lungs begged for air. She had accepted death years ago; there had even been times when Mira had wished with every fiber of her being that she could become one with the Force. Yet every time she told herself to breathe, she found that she couldn’t. Was it that she didn’t want to give the Empire the satisfaction of having ended her life? Was it the tiny shred of hope that she still clung to, that somehow the Order was still alive as long as she was? Mira wasn’t sure. She didn’t even think it mattered.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

There seemed to be little harmony in the Empire. Their apparent goal was order, yet she had felt more beings suffering in the last fifteen years than she ever had during the Clone Wars. Chaos wasn’t quite the right word for it, either—it was a violently enforced peace that kept the galaxy in line.

Mira was starting to feel dizzy. Black spots appeared in her vision. It was hard to think, now. It was hard not to take a breath. She struggled to maintain consciousness—if she blacked out now, she would never wake up.

There is no death, there is—

Her head jerked up and she automatically drew breath as she heard the door in front of her open and then close. Kytov turned around, then silently crumpled to the floor.

Mira tried to stand but the chains kept her tethered to the bench. She couldn’t see the door, but she could just make out the outline of someone walking toward her. She tried to sharpen her senses, but her head felt as foggy as the gas that filled the room. She strained her eyes, trying to see who—

“General Nandi!” Blue plasma ignited in front of her, and immediately Mira knew who it was.

“Don’t breathe!” she yelled. The figure in front of her swung the lightsaber somewhat clumsily, breaking the chains that kept her in place. She held out her wrists, and the blue blade cut through the steel of the cuffs before dissolving back into the fog. A hand grabbed hers and pulled her forward. She stumbled a little; looking down, she saw Kytov’s lifeless body in front of her.

I guess he never learned that the Jedi weren’t meant to be alone, she thought. It seemed to be no use trying to hold her breath anymore, but maybe if she could reach clean air soon…

The hand continued to pull her forward until they had reached the door; it opened in front of them, then automatically slammed shut once they had stumbled through. They were back in the white hallway, the air blissfully clear of the blue fog. In front of the door lay two white-clad troopers, a smoldering hole in each of their helmets.

Mira turned to the person beside her, relief flooding through her veins. “You shouldn’t have come here, Commander Blake, but I’m glad you did.”

The clone grinned. Though he had aged since the days of the Republic, his short black hair now white and his dark skin now weathered, he had maintained his good humor much better than Mira had. “Seems I was just in time, too, General.” That was one habit that had never broken—though the Clone Wars were long over, she didn’t think she’d ever heard him call her by her first name. It was one of the many endearing things about Blake.

“Did you breathe any of the poison?” Mira asked, suddenly serious. Though she had given up on holding her breath, she still felt dizzy, and her head was starting to pound.

“I probably wouldn’t have if I’d realized it was poison,” said Blake. “Let me guess, it’s deadly?”

“Well, it was being used for my execution, so I’m assuming so,” Mira responded. “If we get out of here now, we may still be able to get treatment somewhere—” she broke off in a fit of coughing, feeling her airways constrict as she fought for air. Beside her, Blake didn’t seem to be doing much better.

“Better get out of here soon, then,” said Blake. “My ship is in the west hangar. Its signature is cloaked, so hopefully no one has noticed us yet. I disabled all communications and transmissions—if anyone sees us there’s not a whole lot they can do except shoot at us. And I set off an alarm in the engine room, so hopefully most of the Imps are in there right now.”

Mira looked at Blake with admiration. He had always been one of the best splicers in the GAR, and time had only honed those skills.

“Commander, what would I have ever done without you?”

“You know I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you, General,” Blake replied.

“Well, if we make it out of here alive, remind me to thank you.”

“Will do, sir. The hangar is this way.” He pointed to their right, the opposite direction from Mira’s cell. “Oh, I almost forgot to give this back to you.” He placed the lightsaber he had used to cut through her cuffs into her hand; as soon as it touched her skin she felt a warm rush of comfort. Her prison uniform—a plain gray jumpsuit with no belt and no pockets—was less than ideal for carrying a lightsaber, so Mira contented herself with hiding it in her sleeve. She nodded her thanks and followed Blake down the hall.

They had only walked a few meters before Blake was leaning against the wall, coughing. Mira was having trouble breathing herself, and she thought her head might explode. Glancing down at her hands, she saw hundreds of tiny white cracks forming on the surface of her dark blue skin.

“This might—be harder—than we thought—” Blake gasped. He took a step forward and swayed dangerously, his legs threatening to give out.

Mira put one arm around his shoulders and said, “I’ll help you. We just need to get—” she choked, trying to breathe. Talking didn’t seem to be much of an option, so they limped forward down the featureless white hallway, Blake leaning heavily on Mira for support.

It took at least ten minutes for them to reach the entrance to the hangar. They had only encountered a few stormtroopers, and Mira managed to trick them into thinking the escapees had just turned another corner. It wasn’t a difficult Force technique, but it made Mira’s head pound more each time she used it.

They were about to activate the southern hangar door when Mira felt a chill that had nothing to do with the poison in her veins. It was a tremor in the Force, a cold sensation that seeped into her bones. She had felt this way only once before—when she had met an Inquisitor that had tried to capture her. For a moment, Mira almost laughed at the irony that while a fully trained Inquisitor couldn’t defeat her, a half dozen bounty hunters with blasters set to stun could.

She shook her head, bringing herself back to the present. It wasn’t the same Inquisitor, she didn’t think, but there was little doubt in her mind that this was the emissary that Admiral Kytov had mentioned. She could feel the Dark Side of the Force gathering around her, and it was enough to make her forget her pounding head and screaming lungs.

If there was an Inquisitor within Mira’s reach, she had to kill them no matter what.

“Commander Blake,” Mira wheezed as her companion hit the door control. “Can you still use your blaster?”

“I—think so, sir.” Blake hefted his silencer blaster without too much effort.

“Good. Get to the ship. Get it ready to leave. Make sure they haven’t planted a tracking device. And if I’m not there in fifteen minutes, leave without me.”

Blake looked like he wanted to argue, but his years in the GAR had made him used to following orders without question. “Yes, sir,” he choked, and turned to limp into the hangar.

Mira continued down the hallway, pausing every minute or so to catch her breath. Based on Blake’s ashen face and labored breathing, she had her doubts that he would even be able to reach the ship, much less prepare it for departure. But in coming to rescue her, he had bought her the time—and the freedom—that she needed to kill the evil being before the toxin killed her. He at least deserved to make it out alive, even if she couldn’t.

The chill got stronger as Mira inched forward until she reached another door, about twenty meters from the one that Blake had gone through. She opened the door with a wave of her hand and walked through; she seemed to be in a landing bay adjacent to the one that Blake had entered. A half-dozen ships—two TIE fighters, a light freighter, and a few she didn’t recognize by sight—rested on the hangar floor. The main doors were open and the airlock was activated, giving Mira her first sight of the night sky in months. She hadn’t realized how much she had ached for that sight until it was right in front of her. It was good to know that the rest of the galaxy still existed.

There were only two other beings in the deserted hangar. As soon as Mira entered, their heads snapped up in unison and they turned toward her.

There had to be some kind of mistake. These couldn’t possibly be Inquisitors—their power in the Force was much stronger than the Inquisitor she had met years ago, even accounting for the fact that there were two of them. Mira had never encountered a Sith, but if she had, she imagined that it would feel exactly like this.

That wasn’t what shocked her, though. What shocked her was that these two beings were hardly older than children.

For a moment their resemblance to Jedi padawans was unsettling—there was a distinctive character in their Force signature that reminded her of her own days as an apprentice. The thought that these two younglings could be twisted into Inquisitors was sickening.

Then one of them spoke. She was a Togruta whose black-and-white striped lekku barely reached her stomach. Her face was dark red, with white tattoos on her chin and forehead.

“You!” she exclaimed, pointing at Mira. “You’re supposed to be dead!”

“I’m full of surprises,” Mira said, but the effect was diminished when her words dissolved into coughing.

“She’s weak. We can take her together, but she must be taken alive,” said the second one, who seemed to be a human male, though his face was shrouded by a hood.

As their lightsabers simultaneously ignited into red plasma, Mira felt something change inside of her. Instinct formed by years of training took over as she ignited her own lightsaber, the pain in her body diminishing to a faint complaint at the back of her head. She remembered what she was, and Jedi were meant to endure pain. She had sustained countless injuries in battle in her younger days; this time was no different.

They didn’t waste time before attacking. Mira parried the Togruta’s heavy-handed strike then used the momentum to leap backwards into a defensive position. The human leaped forward in a downward assault, which Mira ducked under before using her foot to throw him off-balance.

They were obviously no match for her—they were powerful, yes, but their skills lacked refinement. Brute strength would never have been enough to defeat Mira at the height of her power.

With her body obviously weakened, though, she wasn’t sure how long she could last against them. Their strategy seemed to be to wear her down with continued attacks that forced her into acrobatics to avoid. Agility had always been Mira’s strength—an enemy could never kill her if they could never land an attack. This tactic had proven essential in the years following Order 66, when survival was her only objective. Now, however, she could tell that she didn’t have enough energy for a sustained battle—she would wear out far faster than her opponents would. She would have to end this quickly.

Switching to an attack position, Mira lunged at the Togruta and faked an overhand attack before coming in from beneath. The girl hardly had time to block the blow, and she lost her balance for an instant.

An instant was all Mira needed. She shoved her hand out, throwing the girl backwards onto the ground with the Force. Mira turned in time to meet the attack of the human; for a moment they sparred, neither able to gain an advantage over the other. Then Mira saw an opening, a weak spot when the human tried to meet her attack. She sliced upwards, her lightsaber cutting through the wrist of his right hand. His lightsaber fell to the floor.

For a fraction of a second, he didn’t seem to have realized what had happened. Mira herself was slightly taken aback—she couldn’t recall ever having severed a limb before, though it was a fairly common move in duels. Then he did realize, and his bloodcurdling shriek echoed off the walls of the hanger.

“Caden!” the girl yelled, struggling to her feet. Her lightsaber lay unignited a few feet from Mira, who reached out and called it to her with the Force. The boy was kneeling on the ground, clutching the stump of his arm to his chest.

The girl turned to Mira. “You’ll pay for this,” she snarled, grabbing her partner’s lightsaber off the ground.

“You can’t—kill her—” the boy gasped between wails of pain. “We have to—”

“I’ll kill her,” screeched the girl. “I’ll kill you! I’ll—” The rest of her words were lost as she lunged at Mira, who ignited the red lighsaber as well as her own and prepared to defend herself once again. She felt much weaker now, and she could hardly block the Togruta’s strike. The girl seemed to have abandoned any restraint; she attacked again, harder, and Mira barely lifted her lightsabers in time to parry. A glancing blow burned the flesh on Mira’s right arm, and she yelped in pain. Their lightsabers met again, and she used hers to push the Togruta back.

Mira could feel the fight draining out of her as she coughed again. Again and again her opponent attacked, and she gained more ground each time. Each blow was accompanied by a wordless screech; her partner’s dismemberment seemed to have unbalanced her. Finally, Mira was able to get a foot under her, and the girl lost balance again. Mira used her advantage to throw the girl backwards once more, this time into the wing of one of the TIE fighters. She heard a crack, and the girl lay still, though Mira could still sense her life signature in the Force.

The boy lay a dozen meters away, still gripping his stump. Now that they were both unarmed, Mira couldn’t finish them off. Even if she had wanted to, she wasn’t sure if she was physically capable of swinging her lightsaber again. She dropped the red saber and turned to the door, her legs collapsing under her.

I might still make it out of here, she thought. Even if Commander Blake is gone, I can grab one of those fighters, tracking devices be damned.

The thought of Commander Blake was enough to pull her back to her feet. She stumbled towards door she had entered through, waving it open once again and leaning against the wall when she reached it. The fight had left her tired as well as weak. Her lungs screamed for air, but none seemed to be coming.

Mira wasn’t sure how she made it back to the west hangar, but suddenly she was in the doorway. She limped forward towards Blake’s ship, a small Imperial freighter. She didn’t recall meeting any stormtroopers along the way, but when she looked back she saw a string of white-armored bodies behind her, most of them killed by their own blaster bolts reflected back at them.

I did that, a distant part of her brain told her. I don’t remember doing it, but I did. She was already struggling to remember what she had been doing before she arrived in the hangar. Had she been fighting with someone?

The stormtroopers must not have realized that Blake had snuck onto the ship, because when she finally stumbled onboard, there were no enemies to meet her. Gasping for air and clutching at one wall, she staggered into the cockpit. Blake was sitting in the captain’s chair, slumped over the controls. Mira grabbed his shoulders and shook him, but he didn’t move. He seemed to be moving farther and farther away from her in the Force. She managed to drag him onto the floor then glanced over the controls, barely noticing as her lightsaber fell from her hand and rolled across the floor to the other end of the cockpit. Thank the Force, he prepared everything, Mira thought, relieved. He had set the hyperdrive to coordinates that she didn’t recognize, but she trusted that he would send them somewhere safe.

Mira’s vision turned black for a moment and she gasped for air. Head swimming, she turned to one of the side panels of the cockpit and tore it open, relieved to find emergency oxygen masks inside. She grabbed two, touched the control to start the tank, then stumbled over to Blake to fit it over his head. That done, she put one on herself, dimly remembering a similar one that someone else had recently worn, though she couldn’t recall who.

She started the engine; the pre-takeoff sequence started automatically and the ship lifted into the air. Her vision still reeling, she was able to guide it out of the hangar. She pushed the hyperdrive switch to the on positon. There was a roaring in her ears.

CALCULATING, said the ship’s display. Come on, Mira thought, though she could no longer remember why it was so important that the hyperdrive deploy.

PREPARING TO ENGAGE, flashed the screen. Mira tried to make sense of the Aurebesh letters before she felt a jolt and the stars in the viewport turned to white streaks.

The display flashed something else, perhaps their destination, but Mira’s vision was spinning too much for her to be able to read it.

The world started to turn black again, and just before she lost consciousness, a phrase appeared, unbidden, in her head. Its cadence reminded her of a Jedi mantra, though she somehow knew that it belonged to the enemy of the Jedi, whose name eluded her.

The Force shall free me.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading <3
> 
> You're the best!


End file.
